


Dear Fellow Traveller

by elibe



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Canon, they’re married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elibe/pseuds/elibe
Summary: The acolyte traces his forefinger in looping patterns across the hard muscle of Raven’s stomach. Lucius has always had some odd tics, but Raven couldn’t help but wonder if Lucius was tracing letters, writing out a message he wouldn’t (or couldn’t) say aloud.
Relationships: Lucius/Raven (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Dear Fellow Traveller

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t think it warranted an M rating, but fair warning: there is discussion of previous injuries/scars. There’s nothing explicit or violent, but I want to make sure that this is established in case somebody needs a CW for the content mentioned!
> 
> my twitter is @luciuslovemail

Slender fingers trail down the expanse of Raven’s arms. Lucius has seen his burn scars countless times, but Raven can't help but feel so completely and fully vulnerable, and for once, the sensation is welcome.

The now-healed flesh is slightly discolored, perhaps a little pinker than his natural skin tone. Raised, mottled knots of tissue snake across his shoulders to the outside of his biceps, a little bit dipping across his upper back. They stand out from the cleaner cuts he’d retained since taking up the blade. Raven truly didn’t care much about his appearance, but he did hate the uninvited attention that his clearly  _ unique _ scars gave him whenever he had to get an injury patched up or bathed alongside others. 

His fingers brush over a gash that had just begun to scar, no longer bleeding but still sensitive. “You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” Raven combs through flaxen hair and caresses the tender skin at the nape of Lucius’ neck. “And I  _ won’t _ .”

The monk looks off to the side of their tent, where the orange candle light casts shadows against their skin. “You cannot know that for sure.”

“Why are you fretting all of the sudden?” Raven mumbles, bringing his calloused hands to cup Lucius’ forearms. “Did you have another episode?”

“No,” Lucius shakes his head, training his gaze somewhere on the expanse from Raven’s collarbone to his neck. “There was so much  _ death  _ today… Too much. Even after the war, violence is perpetual.”

“That’s not your problem to worry about,” Raven chides. “You’re not responsible for anything that happened today _ —  _ taking on the grief and guilt of others won’t do anyone any good.”

“That’s… Easier said than done,” Lucius shifts against Raven’s torso. “What their families must be feeling... It makes my stomach turn.”

The acolyte traces his forefinger in looping patterns across the hard muscle of Raven’s stomach. Lucius has always had some odd tics, but Raven couldn’t help but wonder if Lucius was tracing letters, writing out a message he wouldn’t (or  _ couldn’t) _ say aloud.

A worn but powerful light tome rests in Lucius’ patched leather satchel, alongside messy notes and half-burned candles. His bloodied sash that they hadn’t had the chance to clean yet lays next to it. A healing sigil is smeared onto it with ruddy, dried blood. Raven winces as he imagines Lucius tearing cloth from his habit and frantically drawing a magical symbol on it with the blood of a gravely injured comrade.

Raven gently takes Lucius’ left arm in his hand, pressing his thumb into the pulsepoint in the crook of his elbow. He can feel the raised scars on his forearms and a fire burns in his throat. The thought of someone making Lucius believe that he deserved pain was reason enough to warrant tracking said person down and making them regret it.

That’s not what Lucius would want, though.

The acolyte’s hands are not calloused and rough like Raven’s, instead, the tips of his fingers are nearly bleach-white from wielding light magic. The porcelain markings trail down his knuckles to his wrist, where they fade into already-pale skin. There is more discoloration along Lucius’ shoulder blade from when he’d taken the brunt of a spell thrown at Raven’s direction in the midst of battle, nearly connecting with the twin scars under his pectorals.

“I love you,” the swordsman says, because it’s true and he’s never been more sure of it.

Lucius smiles at that; it’s a soft and gentle thing. “We’re married, Raymond.”

“I know,” he answers. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

His husband laughs and pecks his cheek, rolling off his lap so he lies next to him on their bedroll. Raven moves to rest his hand on Lucius’ unclothed torso, splaying his fingers across the expanse of his ribcage. He knew that Lucius needed the reminder that they were real, that they were alive, that their skin was warm and their blood was flowing.

“Promise me you will not die like that,” Lucius says in a voice barely above a whisper; a mere tremor against the night air. “I... I do not know what I would do.”

Raven’s heart falls at the mere notion of doing so. “I wouldn’t,” he says confidently. “You mustn’t worry about me like that, Lucius.”

“Worrying about you is my job,” the monk sniffs. He’s crying, Raven realizes, and he props himself up on an elbow to bring his free hand up to Lucius’ cheek. 

“Lucius…” Raven sighs and presses his forehead against his partner’s, feeling his sweat-plastered bangs against his own. “I am not going anywhere else anytime soon. Never again.”

“I know,” Lucius chokes out in return. A clammy, shaking hand clasps Raven’s own. “But the sickness in my head likes to tell me otherwise.”

“You’re not sick,” Raven insists. His voice grows thick. “We know better than most that unlearning those feelings isn’t easy.”

Lucius has had the notion that his past misfortunes were a stain on his own soul, and not on the perpetrators’ own, drilled into his psyche since he was young. When Raven had externalized his hurt, looked for anything and anyone to pin it on, Lucius had internalized it to the point of self-loathing. Raven wishes he could somehow rearrange the parts of Lucius’ brain, take out the parts that told him he was sick or ruined, make Lucius see himself how Raven sees him.

“You’re not sick, Lucius,” he repeats, like saying it over and over again could change his brain chemistry. “You’ve never been sick, not ever.”

Lucius nods. His bottom lip is bitten red with the effort to cease his tears. Raven feels the cold metal of Lucius’ wedding band when the latter threads their fingers together. He yawns into Raven’s shoulder as the tremors in his hand still. 

“You should try and sleep a little,” Raven mumbles. Lucius looks apprehensive, so, in a much gentler voice, he continues. “I’ll be here if you have nightmares. I’ll wake you before nightfall; you need to eat.”

“Look at you, fussing,” Lucius laughs blearily. “And you chastise  _ me _ for fretting.”

“Go to sleep, you ridiculous man.” Raven snorts. Lucius swats at his arm, the gesture void of malice, and maneuvers closer to the swordsman’s side.

Dutifully, Raven stays with Lucius’ curled-up form until he’s sure that the monk has drifted off from the telltale lazy rise and fall of his chest. Raven would like to say that he makes a valiant effort to stay awake, but the exhaustion in his bones leaves him not too far behind Lucius. 

Finally, Raven succumbs to the steady thump of Lucius’ pulse against his chest, and allows the precious feeling to carry him into slumber, his lover’s warm skin the catalyst of the first restful sleep he’s had in a long, long time.

* * *

They end up sleeping through the night, their fellow mercenaries considerate enough to not disturb their much-needed respite.

“ _ Ray _ — get off of me,” A muffled voice comes from underneath their heavy, knit blanket.

It takes Raven a minute to come to reality. He registers briefly the incessant tugging at his tunic and what might’ve been hair in his mouth. He rolls over, dragging their covers with him, resulting in a frustrated groan from his bedfellow.

“Get my hair out of your mouth,” Lucius grimaces. 

“My mouth has been in worse places.” Raven brushes Lucius’s bangs out of his eyes, taking with them the renegade strand stuck to his face. 

His lover noses at the crook of his neck before pressing a kiss onto his skin. Raven lets his hand settle on Lucius’ slender waist and brings the other to stroke his hair. The latter wraps his bony arms around the mercenary’s torso.

“The others will be waking soon,” Lucius murmurs, although he makes no effort to untangle himself from their predicament.

_ “Soon,  _ not  _ now.”  _ Raven grumbles. “Army duties can wait.”

“Oh, so I suppose you’d like to miss breakfast, then?” Lucius chides and moves to look him in the eyes. 

“You make a compelling argument,” he concedes, though neither of them make an effort to move.

“We’d’ve been woken up by Serra by now,” Lucius snorts after a momentary silence. “She could scare the life out of me some mornings with that voice of hers.”

Raven chuckles. “That woman did not understand the concept of privacy.”

“And then Wil would’ve pestered you until you’d agreed to accompany him on a hunting trip,” Lucius laughs; pulls him closer. “Sain would’ve dragged Kent out of their tent kicking and screaming if the poor man hadn’t roused early enough.”

There’s an unspoken undercurrent to their conversation. Raven knew that Lucius missed their old compatriots, probably more than he himself did, but regardless, he felt a near-foreign pang in his heart when talking of old friends.

_ Friends.  _ Raven had never really had friends. His efforts to distance himself from every living creature in the years he spent grieving had prevented him from developing anything  _ near _ a companionship. Lyndis’ Legions, their army, whatever name he could call it, had indubitably changed things. Raven had denied it at first, but, undoubtedly, he’d made some (albeit odd and vexing) friends.

“We can visit them sometime,” Raven murmurs. “When we’re done with this job we could visit Lyn in Sacae, since we’re already close to the plains, anyway.”

“That sounds lovely.” Raven can feel Lucius’ smile against his neck. “Perhaps Florina as well, if she isn’t in Ilia.”

The sunlight filtering through the fabric of their tent is starting to hurt Raven’s eyes, so he begrudgingly makes an effort to sit up. “Let’s dress. I haven’t forgotten about breakfast.”

“I’m terribly hurt that you love your food more than my company,” Lucius laments in a melodramatic, teasing tone. Nonetheless, he scoots off of their bedroll and reaches for his discarded robes.

Raven laughs. “I could never.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was gonna be part of a larger fic, but i like it better as a stand-alone, so it’s a little shorter than i wanted it to be
> 
> title is in reference to the song “dear fellow traveller” by sea wolf bc of these lyrics:
> 
> you spoke my language / and touched my limbs / it wasn’t difficult / to pull me from myself again 
> 
> my twt is @luciuslovemail


End file.
